All the Right Reasons
by Queen of Smoke and Mirrors
Summary: Hermione has always known that there are more important things in life than rules.


**AN: Another oneshot! This was written for a dramionelove fest where my prompt was 'regulation of leisure time travel.' Do review :)**

* * *

 **ALL THE RIGHT REASONS**

The ground fell away from her feet in a dizzying sensation that Hermione, even all these years later, had never managed to get used to. When her head stopped spinning she opened her eyes. Her surroundings looked exactly the same, but she knew them to be twenty years younger. Her hands shook slightly as she tucked the Time-Turner back under her robes.

She was standing outside the Room of Requirement, a thirty-seven-year-old woman in Ministry robes in a school of teenagers; nobody was around to see her, but she stuck out like a sore thumb. Hermione cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and set off.

She'd left Hogwarts two decades ago. It wasn't that she was a sentimental person, because she wasn't – not like Harry and Ron, who liked to blather on about the good old Hogwarts days when they got drunk – but with every step she took, memories pushed in on her, pressing against her skin, demanding to be let inside. How could she blame them? Hogwarts, after all, had been the first time she'd ever felt as though she'd found friendship. As though she belonged.

Hermione thought it was probably evening; she passed only a few students, mostly harried-looking older pupils with thick tomes under their arms, and smiled faintly. She'd been a studious girl, and was now a studious woman who still enjoyed a good textbook.

Unlike her quarry, who'd barely ever cracked one open in his privileged life.

She slid into a small alcove, lit only by a flickering torch in a nearby bracket, and slipped a roll of parchment out of her pocket. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good," she murmured.

It was only a little true.

The inked lines on the Marauder's Map shimmered into existence, revealing her target to be wandering along the seventh floor corridor. No surprise there. She took a shortcut behind a tapestry, took the Disillusionment Charm off, and emerged opposite Draco Malfoy.

He saw her immediately, though of course he did not recognise her. Why should he? In what universe could he expect the "Mudblood" he'd disparaged to have suddenly aged twenty years and be advancing purposefully towards him? Hermione took advantage of his frozen state.

"Confundo," she breathed. Draco's pale, pointed face twisted as he nearly dodged the curse, fumbling for his wand, but Hermione had many more years' experience; he paused in confusion as the spell took effect.  
"Whaa…"

Hermione took a step forward. "Draco Malfoy," she murmured. "You're driving yourself insane trying to fix that Vanishing Cabinet. Here's the instructions for it." She handed him a piece of parchment, which he looked at in confusion.

"Huh?"

She smirked slightly at seeing him like this, so different from his normal icy sophistication. Maybe she should Confund him more often. But there was no more time; with a whispered, _"Obliviate"_ she was gone, flipping the Time-Turner until she got back to her own time.

They were waiting for her, as she had expected.

"What have you done?" Kingsley Shacklebolt said instantly. His voice was sharp and anxious. "Hermione, what have you done?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but was forestalled; the door of her office opened and her husband strolled in.

"Granger," he said. "A word, if you don't mind."

"You're not going anywhere!" Shacklebolt snapped. "Not until I get some answers! The magic you did – the spells – they were so powerful, I'm amazed the Ministry's still standing! And the mass Memory Charms – how do you even have the energy? For that matter, why am I the only one unaffected? And – the blatant abuse of your position –"

"Shacklebolt," Draco Malfoy cut in. His voice was a cold whip; as he had aged, the resemblance to his father had become more prominent, and it was not merely in looks. "I require a word with my wife."

With a last glare at her, the wife of his greatest sponsor, Shacklebolt blew out.

Hermione collapsed onto her seat. "Gods, I'm exhausted."

He approached, leaning against her desk. "What did you do?"

Unlike the Minister of Magic, his voice was curious, not accusatory. Only she would be able to hear the undertones of concern and affection in his drawling voice.

"Draco," she said without looking at him. "You know we're to have a son. You know the trials you've faced since Voldemort's fall. Do you want our child to suffer the same? Better, I thought, that the past be rewritten, and that you and little Harry Malfoy get a clean slate."

"Granger, I love you, but we are not naming our son Harry," he said. "And if you ever worry me like that again, I will… I don't know what I'll do. But it'll be horrible."

Smiling, she held out her arms. He slid into them instantly, shifting her so that she was on his lap, her head tucked into his shoulder. "You were worried?" she said casually. Her fingers played with his own long, slender white digits.

She heard him snort. "All I knew was that one minute, you were fine, the next minute, all the portraits were yelling that Madam Malfoy had done some kind of powerful, illegal magic. I got here as soon as I could. Speaking of which, I can't believe you abused your position as an Unspeakable to do this!"

"Mmm," she murmured, her lips curled into a sly smile.

"What exactly did you do?"

"I found your sixth-year self and gave you instructions for the Vanishing Cabinet that would cause it to look fixed, but when the Death Eaters came through, it would swallow them up. Then, I did a general Undetectable Memory Charm on everyone involved using a spell circle – that's mainly what exhausted me – so nobody would remember any differently. Except Shacklebolt, because he's my boss, and I do have limits. So, congratulations, Malfoy. You're now a war hero."

"I've never really been the hero type," he said thoughtfully, twining her curls around his wrist. "I suppose you'll have to show me."

"I can do that," she promised.


End file.
